


Red Eye

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Flight Attendants, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26942107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Brock gets initiated into the mile high club whether he likes it or not.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Red Eye

Jack was utterly exhausted as he boarded his plane. He went to the club seats, sitting back with a huff of frustration. He’d flown to the west coast for a corporate buyout and he was due back to the east coast in six hours so he’d chartered the company jet. Some days he wondered why he bothered with it all. He’d taken the job for the benefits, for the money -- but what’s the point of money if you have no time to spend it? 

“Good evening, Mr. Rollins.” 

He cracked open an eye to look at the attendant. It wasn’t the usual one, much to his disappointment. Nothing took the edge off of a stressful flight and long hours like pressing his cock down the throat of a pretty young twink. He wasn’t sure he’d consider the attendant a twink. He wore the uniform well, light blue in color. He wasn’t very tall and his eyes sparkled with an eagerness Jack appreciated. 

“Call me Jack…” 

It took him a moment to catch the drift and with a blush coloring his cheeks he supplied, “Brock. Brock Rumlow. I - I’m covering for Jordan.” 

“I see that. How about you fix us both a drink. Something strong for me, whatever you’d like for yourself.” 

Brock Rumlow looked startled but he turned around to go to the bar. The suit hugged his ass nicely and Jack understood why he’d been hired. It was a trade secret. Attendants hired to private plans were to service the guests in any way requested. Jack was taken back to his early days when he was exposed to the upper class’ idea of fun -- lines of cocaine and women with large breasts and tiny waists. The CSO had noticed his lack of participation and on their very next flight there was a soft spoken man with the same eager look his current attendant had. It was then he knew he was in the lap of luxury, especially when he had the attendant by the hair, pressing his face into his lap. The CSO had given a nod of approval and he was officially accepted into the fold. 

It was no longer much of a luxury to him. It was an expectation. He wasn’t ugly, Jack decided as he brought him bourbon in a classic glass -- he could make a drink, at least. He didn’t try anything iditotic like thinking ‘strong’ meant rum and Coke. He had a tonic water in his hand and Jack addressed it immediately. 

“I thought I said get a drink.” 

He went pale, looking down at the little glass bottle. “Oh, I… The handbook said I shouldn’t drink.” 

Jack scoffed. “The handbook? The handbook says you listen to the person you work for. Get a drink -- a real one.” 

Brock did so quickly, a bit clumsy with nerves as he poured himself the closest thing -- the bourbon he’d poured Jack. It was yet another stupid move and Jack rolled his eyes already knowing what was coming. He turned around with the glass, overing a shaky smile and took a sip. Immediately his face screwed up and he forced it down with considerable effort. Jack laughed, he couldn’t help it. His exhaustion had been replaced with a strange interest in this Brock Rumlow. Inexperienced, young… 

“Enjoying your drink?” he asked with a cold smile. 

“Yes sir.” 

“You’d lie to your employer?” 

Jack was certain if he went any paler he’d disappear all together. Brock’s hand shook. “I don’t like it. Sir.” 

“Well why would you pour yourself one. You aren’t stupid are you?” 

He expected to see fire burn into those eyes and it did for a second before extinguishing itself in place of fear. “No.” 

“Well you must be.” 

“Yes sir.” 

“Come sit.” 

He knew by Brock’s face it was the very last thing he wanted to do and that made it all the more fun. Brock took tiny steps, delaying the inevitable. Then he was sitting, looking everywhere but Jack. “You’re not ugly.” 

There was a beat and then Brock said, “Thank you?” 

“I didn’t say you were attractive, I just said you weren’t ugly.” Jack replied. 

“Oh.” Brock said, looking crestfallen. He took another drink, shuddering. “I should probably check with the pilot and -- ”

“You should probably stay where you are,” Jack said sharply.

Brock drew back a bit, eyes widening in fear before he attempted to mask it with a nod. “Right, of course, sorry.” 

“Sorry are you? Finish that glass.” 

Brock did, with great difficulty. Jack realized there was something...nice...about watching Brock Rumlow struggle. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip and Brock finally finished the cup. His breathing was a bit ragged and eyes rimmed with red. Jack wondered how he looked when he cried. Jack finished his own and held it out. 

“Get me another.” 

“Yes sir.” 

Brock seemed relieved to get away from him and that amused him. He had five hours with the man. Five long hours to push buttons and see what Brock Rumlow was afraid of. To see what he could make Brock Rumlow afraid of. 

“Get yourself one too.” 

“D-does it have to be -- ”

“It’s the drink you chose, Brock. Choices have consequences.” 

Brock bobbed his head looking especially downtrodden. His eyes looked so soft when they were sad; it was a good look on him. Brock poured himself half a finger, an idiotic attempt at being sneaky. So Jack got up and grabbed the bottle and Brock flinched, the reaction of someone who’d been hit before. He wondered if he looked pretty bruised. It wasn’t like he could find out but he wished he could. Maybe take a few photographs… 

“I said a drink, not a sip.” He splashed more than a generous amount and held it out for Brock who winced once more before taking it. “Now come and sit. It’s your job to attend to me, or did you forget?” 

“I didn’t forget sir.” 

“Good.” 

They were soon facing each other, the only sound was the hum of the engine. Jack savored the silence knowing the longer it stretched the more it scared Brock. And there was something so...sweet about the man in front of him being frightened. His hand was starting to tremble when he took drinks of the liquor.

“How long have you worked for the company?” Jack finally took mercy on the shaking man. 

“Uh, not long. It-it’s my first night.” 

Brock looked at him, a silent plea for him to show mercy. To take it easy because he was new. 

“I see.” 

Brock was even more appealing, a new employee, fresh blood. “So what did Jordan tell you about me?” 

“He said you were n-nice,” his voice broke at the end, a clear indication that Jordan had said that and it was why he was so taken off guard. 

“I am nice, once you’re nice to me.” 

“H-have I been…” Brock began but his eyes sunk lower to where Jack’s cock was visible through his pant leg. “Sir, no, I…”

“I’m afraid you’re under the assumption that this is optional.” Jack smiled with a dark chuckle. 

Brock stood up, spilling his drink in the process. He looked down at the spill and then back to Jack. “I-I’m not doing that.” 

“I wasn’t asking.” 

Jack stood, setting his drink on the bar, taking off his jacket and folding it in his seat. Brock was looking at him with his big frightened eyes and he looked so damn pretty like that. Jack wished he could take a picture but he doubted Brock would pose properly. Jordan always did.. Brock backed up against the pilot’s cabin. 

“I’ll tell him,” Brock said, voice shaking. “I’ll scream.” 

“Feel free.” 

Brock’s terror was like a drug. Jack could almost smell the fear in the air as he slammed his hand against the door. The pilot looked over his shoulder once and turned back towards the controls. Brock let a sob, one of disbelief and fear. It was a beautiful sound, the sweetest song that had ever graced his ears. He took Brock by the arm and Brock swung with the other. He caught it easily and wrenched his wrist until he cried out. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, Brock Rumlow. Not if you listen to me. You can do that, right? Follow directions?” 

“Please,” Brock begged, his voice husky with tears. “Please, I won’t say anything I promise -- ”

“I know you won’t either way,” Jack said softly in a condescending voice. “You don’t have any power here. The only one in control is me. I’ll do whatever I want to and no one is going to help you. And you can’t do a damn thing about it.” 

That was what got him off most, the power. He was in control, he was God in this jet and Brock was nothing, a warm hole that made pretty noises. Brock tried to strike him, hitting him the face once. Jack’s anger got the best of him and he busted his nose. The flight attendant was choking on the blood running down the back of his throat. It didn’t stop him however, putting up twice the fight Jordan initially had. Once more, blind with annoyance, he wrenched his wrist until a snap echoed around the jet. 

Brock screamed, Jack smiled. 

Consumed by his pain he didn’t have much fight left in him as he got his pants down. Brock didn’t deserve lube, not after his behavior. Jack got his decorum back around him as he lined up his thick, hard cock. Brock’s muscles were tight with fear and pain and Jack couldn’t breach him. He slapped his thigh. “Loosen up.” 

Brock just sobbed. 

Jack slapped him again. “Loosen up or I’ll rip you wide open.” 

Brock obeyed. The best he could, considering his injuries, Jack thought but he wasn’t sorry about it. They had been his fault. He could have been nice and sweet like Jordan. Could have numbed himself with alcohol and stayed nice and still. He wasn’t objecting to this of course, this was a different flavor but it was just as sweet. Hell, maybe it was sweeter. Jack groaned as he bottomed out, Brock was tight, body refusing him but it was too late. He was inside of him. Part of him whether Brock liked it or not. Brock’s hard sobs were a fitting soundtrack to the picturesque moment. He could see a reflection of himself in the dark glass windows and he watched himself fuck Brock. Fuck this whore, this piece of nothing because he was below him. Everyone, everything was below him. He was the one in control. 

His paces staggered. He was a God. Jack Rollins was a king of an insignificant world. He was all that mattered. He was perfect. He was coming. It was an orgasm he wished would never end. He stared himself as he thrusted into him to milk out the last bit of cum. He finally pulled out, red tinged semen dribbling out of Brock. He took his cellphone from the pocket of his slacks and snapped a photograph. Jack stood, admired himself, preening with power, and then redressed. He picked up his glass and settled in for a long flight. He’d need just under two hours before he’d be ready to go again. And he was already looking forward to next time. 

** ** ** **

“How’d it go?” 

“Broken wrist and nose. Offered $25,000 in exchange for NDA.” 

“Rollins just keeps running through ‘em.” 

“Sure does. But don’t we all.” 

The men shared a laugh and then put a call to HR about placing an ad for a new male flight attendant. It was an endless task but it was one of the perks of being a part of the biggest parent company in the United States. Brock Rumlow was nothing. There were plenty before him and there would be even more after him. 

In the grand scheme of things, Brock Rumlow was nothing.


End file.
